


Adoration

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock adores John. Plain and simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adoration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mattsloved1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsloved1/gifts).



> Nice little piece of smutty fluff for my dear friend mattsloved1. She is a rock:) And a lovely, lovely person. Go read her stories!
> 
> As usual I don’t own. We will just have to see about that *arms crossed, head nod! Hmph!

Adoration

 Sherlock sat, simply absorbed in the art and virtuosity of the thought process. He was in the middle of reorganization of various areas of his mind palace, general ‘spring cleaning’ and ‘sweeping away the cobwebs’. Those were the type of plebeian phrases that John would say.

 Simply thinking John’s name brought him into John’s room in his mind. John’s room, sunny and bright, shining just like him, clean, neat and orderly with military precision. Warm and cozy. The smell of home and love. Always love. Wrapped up and through and around thoughts of John.

 The man he was thinking of was currently sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning back against his knees, legs crossed, poking away at that ridiculous blog of his. Slow, inane, two-fingered typing. Sherlock thinking of John made him become aware of John and his warm presence against his legs.

 Sherlock’s eyes swept the back of John’s neck, bent and strained as he crouched over the laptop. He knew if he could see his face that his tongue would be sticking out, just a little, at the corner, whilst he typed. He watched the shift and flex of shoulder muscles under the t-shirt, substitute for a bulky sweater or button up shirt on this warm day, muscles he could feel under his hands as if they were really there, feel the way they moved and rolled as he clutched them and panted John’s name.

 The man in question would pause every now and then to take a swig of the bottle of beer sitting on the floor beside him. Sherlock’s keen eyes watched as condensation ran down the bottle as it was placed back onto the floor. Something about the slow slide of the beads of moisture and the movement of John swallowing made his throat tighten.

 He continued to watch the play of muscles on the back of John’s neck. He knew there were some cultures that considered the back of the neck an erogenous zone. He had researched erogenous zones when he had decided he needed to learn as much about the art of seduction as he possibly could, wanted to surprise John in bed with some new experiments. The good kind of experiment, not the kind that singed your eyebrows and made John frown and yell.

 He reached out and began a slow one-finger caress of John’s neck. He felt John stiffen faintly in surprise and then lean into the touch. A slight turn of his head as he looked over his shoulder back at the detective. A sly chuckle and John shifted the computer to the floor and turned his upper body further in order to better look at the other man.

 Sherlock leaned forward, placed his hand upon John’s face, running it along the shadowy stubble that lay there and then wrapped his long fingers around the back of John’s neck and drew them together.

 He caressed John’s lips with his own, tenderly and cautiously, as if testing their flavour or trying to see how well they could fit together. He was delightfully aware of how well they fit together, how their bodies would mold and meld. He revealed in the flavours and tastes of John, he savoured his tang and muskiness. It was his new addiction and he could never get enough of it.

 John pressed into Sherlock’s leg and a low, slow moan rumbled from his chest, the vibrations set a counterpoint to Sherlock’s heartbeat. The detective’s tongue swept out and into John’s mouth, tentatively at first and then with greater passion, achieving a new level of exaltation.

 As he finished turning and pushed up onto his knees, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, tightened his grip and ran his strong, capable hands up the younger man’s back, kneaded the muscles there, manipulating and massaging them.

 He leaned into John, tried to occupy the same space, wanted to be together, cell to cell, atom to atom,  the impossible, but desirable physics of two bodies sharing the same space. His molecular structure screamed for the feel of John’s bare skin against his own, wanted to absorb him.

 John was working his way down Sherlock’s back and had managed to tug his shirt out of his trousers. As the gun calloused bare hand touched the trembling flesh underneath the silk shirt, Sherlock gasped in pleasure, breaking the kiss for the first time since he initiated it.

 His eyes, pupils dark with desire, rimmed with silver, made John think of an eclipse. John’s eyes, the blue melted into the black, reminded Sherlock of a starless sea.

 Sherlock’s voice deep and dark like liquid smoke, rasped the words “Come with me, John.”

 He pulled his soldier to his feet and led him to the bedroom, undressed him, and treasured him, worshiped him and cherished him, with awe and reverence, with tenderness and longing.

 The man he adored.


End file.
